The Way of the Sword
by Heather Logan
Summary: Hiko Seijuurou teaches his young apprentice an important lesson. Oneshot.


**The Way of the Sword **

A Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction by Heather Logan

_(Disclaimer: This was written for fun, not profit. Rurouni Kenshin belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.) _

* * *

"I didn't feel _anything,_ Shishou! I _heard_ you!"

I closed my eyes and ground my teeth in frustration, drawing on every ounce of will I possessed to keep myself from screaming. I had been trying to teach my idiot apprentice how to sense ki. I had been trying all day, and I was getting nowhere. I might as well try to teach a cat to paint calligraphy.

I knew he could feel it; that was the frustrating thing. It was bloody obvious that he could feel it. I'd had him face the beeches on the edge of the clearing, had told him to wait until he sensed me behind him. I'd walked away toward the cottage, masked my ki, and strolled right back, my boots perfectly silent on the grassy earth. I'd stood there watching him for more than a minute, watching as he waited with his back toward me, still as a small red-haired statue, every sense on the alert. Then I'd unmasked my ki.

He'd sensed me then. Of course he'd sensed me then. He just didn't understand what it was that he'd felt. The idiot.

"Baka deshi!" I berated him. "I was standing here for ages! You only felt my presence when I revealed my ki!"

He glared up at me, defiant. "I'm telling you, I _heard_ you! How could I feel anything when nothing was touching me?"

I sighed, exasperated, and threw up my hands. "It's not that kind of 'feel,' Kenshin! It's _ki!_ It's something you _sense!_" How could I explain a thing of such sublime subtlety to an idiot child? "Once you know what to look for, it'll be easy. Come on; we'll try it again."

"How can I look for it? You just told me it's invisible!"

I glared back at him. Was he being intentionally obtuse? I knew full well he could feel it; I just had to make him understand it. He needed to know what it was he was feeling for; only then could he begin training to refine his senses. And only after he was able to sense the nuances in another's ki could he hope to learn to control his own.

I should have started this earlier, I thought. I shouldn't have waited nine months to start teaching him about ki. At this rate, I'd be an old man by the time he learned. And being able to sense an opponent's ki is so vital in swordsmanship; he would never master Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu without it.

"Look, we'll try it again," I said firmly, and gestured for him to turn around.

"No!" he yelled at me. "This is stupid! It's just listening for sounds, and-- and feeling the air move or something! If you can't see it or hear it, ki isn't even real! How do you expect me to feel some kind of stupid imaginary thing if-"

"Damn it!" I snapped, losing my temper. "I'll show you it's real--" I narrowed my eyes, and hit him full force with my kenki. My swordsman's ki.

He felt that. Oh, did he ever. His body jolted at the impact, eyes and mouth going wide, and he stumbled backward several steps, landing on his backside.

"Heh," I laughed. He was half-sitting, half-lying there in the dust, looking like he'd been stunned, those light-colored eyes of his gone huge and unfocused in a face pale with shock. "That's kenki," I said harshly. "Sword-ki. Tell me _that's_ not real."

He opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it again. Too shocked to speak.

I smirked to myself.

"Think about how that felt," I added. "Everything else is just a refinement." I watched him for a little while, then shook my head. My kenki is very powerful. Clearly he wouldn't be getting up for a while.

"Come find me when you're ready to continue," I said, and walked away.

It was already late afternoon; I would have called it evening if it hadn't been this close to midsummer, with the sun still two hours from the horizon. The extended daylight provided ample time for training; since the start of May I'd had Kenshin swinging the practice-sword at dawn, working through the beginning kata at midmorning, and doing another round of sword swings in the early afternoon. Even that left plenty of time for his chores and for my training sessions in the diverse arts of swordsmanship.

I stopped by the cottage and picked up the water buckets. Normally this was Kenshin's job, fetching water from the stream. An apprentice has certain duties to fulfill in exchange for the precious knowledge that is given to him; it is the same in any school of swordsmanship. But I wanted to get started on dinner sooner or later and I had a feeling that Kenshin would be sitting there on the ground for longer than I was willing to wait. Besides, I didn't want to just hang around next to the training ground. I didn't want him to think I was worrying over him.

Such a ridiculous thought.

Kenshin's training had been going reasonably well, all things considered, I thought as I reached the stream and stepped down onto one of the large gray stones to dip the first bucket into the fast-flowing water. A testament, no doubt, to my natural skill as a teacher. He could be infuriatingly obtuse at times -- this afternoon had by no means been the first such instance -- but once the concepts had been beaten through his thick skull he was very diligent in refining them. I had never once caught him shirking his practice drills. In fact, more often than not I'd caught him slipping in a few extra repetitions, or disappearing after his chores to get in a bit of supplemental practice on some technique or other that I'd shown him.

I filled the second bucket and picked my way back up from the streamside.

Kenshin's stamina had been improving, too, I reflected as I started back down the path toward my cottage. As the days had lengthened I'd half expected him to start giving out before the sunlight did, but he'd stretched himself, running around from dawn to dusk as if he were drawing his energy from the sun itself. Sure, he slept like a rock once darkness fell, and he ate like a person twice his size, but he is a growing child after all.

At least I hope he's growing. It would be embarrassing to have to pass down the Hiten sword to an apprentice no taller than my waist.

Ah well, I thought, nudging the cottage door open with one foot and setting the buckets down just inside. No use fretting over a thing I have no power to change. I eyed the woodpile in its small enclosure beside the house, then bent to pick out a few split logs. I'd let our stock of firewood dwindle since the coming of true spring. Time to send Kenshin out wood-gathering again soon.

I paused for a moment and stretched out my senses in the boy's direction. I could still feel him out there on the training ground, past the little stand of cork-trees over on the far side of my cottage. His ki was drawn inwards, tight and still.

"Huh," I said to myself, and squatted to arrange the wood in the fire-pit. He must still be in shock, I thought. That, or perhaps he was thinking about what he'd felt. I hoped it was the latter.

I lit the fire and settled down on the bare ground beside it for some serious relaxing. It was a nice day, quiet and not too warm. I sipped a dish of sake; I contemplated the tree-clad mountainside; I thought about the meaning of life. I filled the rice pot and the soup pot with water and put them on the fire to boil; I cut up a few vegetables. Relaxing stuff.

Dinner was ready just as the sun dipped below the hills.

"Kenshin!" I bellowed in my apprentice's general direction. "Dinner!"

He was a little slow in coming. Usually he was there as soon as I called, racing around the corner of the cottage like a half-starved animal, but not today. He came at a rapid walk, but there was something about his movements, something about the shuttered look to his eyes, something about the way he flicked me a tense half-smile as he settled down in his usual spot on the ground beside the fire-pit.

Still dealing with my kenki, I figured, and passed him a bowl of rice.

He accepted it in silence, placing it on the ground before him as I ladled the soup and passed that to him in turn.

"Itadakimasu," I said briefly, and tucked into my dinner.

It was delicious, as always. Even with these rudimentary facilities, I am an excellent cook. Still, it's a bit of a chore. I really should teach Kenshin how to do it.

I had already made the mistake of adding the cooking of dinner to Kenshin's duties one evening back in late autumn. How was I to know that he hadn't a single clue in his head about food preparation? It seemed the most he could do was to boil water, and even that he'd botched, overfilling the kettle and scalding himself trying to take it off the fire once the steam had started jetting out from under the lid.

It was high time he learned how to cook, I thought as I finished off my soup and reached out to ladle a bit more into my bowl. For heaven's sake, he was almost nine. No use waiting, then; I would start teaching him tomorrow.

Still, I couldn't help cringing a little at the thought of having to deal with the fruits of Kenshin's culinary training. I had no doubt that he would approach it in exactly the same way as he approached his training in swordsmanship. Having to bandage the results of his training disasters was bad enough. I did not relish the thought of having to eat them as well.

I shot a glance at my apprentice. He was just picking at his rice, hardly eating any at all. I quirked an eyebrow at him; normally he wolfed down his dinner as if he hadn't eaten in days. Something was wrong with him, I thought. There was certainly nothing wrong with my cooking; as always, it was fit for a daimyo's table.

"Excuse me," Kenshin said in a small voice, setting his bowl and chopsticks down abruptly and scrambling to his feet.

I frowned at him, perplexed, as he hurried away from the fire and around the corner of the cottage. He got about fifty feet into the woods. Then I heard him being sick.

I narrowed my eyes. This was more serious than I'd thought. There was silence for about half a minute, then I heard the soft rustle of the grasses as he got up again. He walked slowly back to the fire, moving carefully as if he wasn't entirely steady on his feet.

He lowered himself back down onto his knees, eyes fixed and oddly shuttered, carefully avoiding my gaze. I could see that he was trembling.

Was he sick? Not likely, I thought; he'd been fine just two hours ago. Afraid, then? I frowned again, disturbed. Had my kenki frightened him that badly?

He glanced at his bowl of rice, then away. "I'm sorry," he said, in that same tiny voice. "I'm not very hungry."

My frown deepened. Kenki was a powerful thing. Dangerous, even. A fight could be won or lost on ki alone; the sword then served only to send the body to join its spirit in defeat. I could remember what kenki felt like, when directed by a master swordsman against a half-skilled apprentice. It was like watching yourself die.

Perhaps my kenki had not been the best instructional tool to choose for today's lesson.

Kenshin was still sitting there, stiffly, his legs tucked under him and his arms pulled in close to his body, head down and eyes on the ground. I could see little shivers running through him, every few seconds, as if he were running a fever.

Had I terrified him? I looked at him, searchingly, feeling out his ki. No; not terrified. He didn't seem to be afraid at all. It was something else, a kind of... a kind of sick horror. As if he'd just seen something truly awful.

_Oh,_ I thought, understanding at last. It wasn't that my kenki had frightened him. It was that it had made him remember. My apprentice had encountered sword-ki once before.

He'd been a little bit like this when I'd first brought him home. A little, but not this bad, at least not during the daylight. He'd been exhausted and half-starved, but the shock of the massacre had worn off.

Had mostly worn off. The first couple of weeks he'd woken up most every night, terrified and shaking. I'd told him it was all right, told him he was safe, told him to go back to sleep. What else was I supposed to do? Hell, I'm only twenty-three. What do I know about taking care of a kid's emotional needs?

It was a woman's scream that had led me to the massacre. A girl's scream, really; it could only have been one of those three slave girls that Kenshin had cared so much about. I wasn't in time to save any one of them. I was only in time to see the last of them die, and to hear her final words.

_Please, spare the child--_

I never knew which one she was. Kenshin had named them for me: Kasumi-san, Akane-san, Sakura-san. But I had not asked him which one had been the last to die in front of his eyes.

I was in time to save him. At least I'd been able to do that much.

But I'd left him there, kneeling on the ground in that field of corpses, those enormous eyes of his drinking in the horror. I'd told him to go down to the village, and I'd walked away. I'd thought that my job there was over. My job was to kill bandits, not to care for their victims. So I'd left him. And he'd buried the bodies.

It was no wonder he felt ill, remembering that.

"The bandits," I said gently.

He seemed to pull inward a little, ducking his head slightly and dropping his shoulders, making himself even smaller.

"You killed them," he replied, in a tiny voice.

I blinked, startled. I'd assumed it was the bandits' kenki that he was remembering. But that was wrong. The bandits' skill had been nothing; third-rate samurai from the start, they'd long since gone soft and thuggish from preying on the helpless. No, it was my own ki that he'd felt, my own kenki that I'd hit the bandits with before I'd cut them to pieces.

He had watched it all. And then he had buried the bodies. Those three girls, and the slavers, and the bandits that I had killed. He had buried the bodies.

He was sitting there, looking small and lost and miserable, there on the boundary between the firelight and the growing dusk. My apprentice.

On an impulse, I reached out and drew him into my lap. He didn't flinch, didn't pull away; he wasn't afraid of me, not any more. But he didn't look up, he didn't relax; he just leaned his head against my shoulder, eyes closed, body stiff and trembling.

It was a bit ridiculous, what I did. So awkward. I wasn't his mother, for heaven's sake. But he didn't pull away, he just leaned his head against my shoulder, and I suddenly wondered when was the last time anyone had held him like this. His parents, close to a year and a half ago now, before they'd been taken by cholera? Or perhaps those slave girls, whose bodies he had buried?

The first time Kenshin had seen me, he had seen me kill. And now he was my apprentice.

There was something he had to be told. There was something he had to understand. I took a deep breath, and cleared my throat.

"A sword is a weapon," I began. "The way of the sword is the way to kill. No matter how we dress it up in pretty words, this is the truth."

When I had first heard those words, I'd been in a much more dignified position. But I hadn't been eight years old. And I hadn't already seen the truth of them with my own eyes. Not then; not yet.

I shifted my arms slightly. Kenshin didn't move, but I felt him take a long breath. The trembling had subsided a little.

"Even so," I continued, "the purpose of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu is to protect the happiness of the people. To protect the weak from suffering."

This, too, is the truth, paradoxical as it seems even to me sometimes: to kill in order to protect. So often it does no good at all. So often, all I've been able to do is bury the bodies. Yet still I continue, because to give this up would be to give up all I've ever fought for.

I've been lucky, up here on the mountain. Up here, away from the cities and the trade roads, the battles arise only seldom. I have not had to kill for three seasons now, not since the bandits. Yet I would not hesitate. I made that choice long ago. To protect the people from suffering, I chose to kill.

Kenshin will have to make that choice himself, someday.

"It is a choice," I continued quietly. I knew he was listening to me, taking in my every word. He had stopped trembling but had made no move to sit up, still resting against my chest, his head nestled in the hollow below my shoulder.

"It is a choice that must be made every time you pick up the sword," I said, speaking carefully so that every word would be clear. This part was important. Very important.

"No one can make that choice but you. The choice is yours, and with it the responsibility."

A wielder of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu had to be free, or it was all for nothing. I glanced down at Kenshin in my lap. Did he know this? Had I ever told him that the choice was his, that the choice always had to be his? I had not asked him to become my apprentice. When I'd found him in that field of graves and seen the hidden strength in his spirit, I hadn't asked him. I had _told_ him. I had given him a new name and told him that I would teach him my most precious knowledge. And he had followed me, like a good slave-child.

Did he know that it was his choice? I thought he did; that strength of spirit would not fold so easily, even to my will. In Kenshin's case, 'strength of spirit' translated into 'stubborn as a mule.' But I had to be sure. I had to give him the choice.

"Kenshin," I started. "There is still a village at the foot of the mountain." I hesitated then, just for a second, surprising myself with my sudden reticence. I found that I didn't want to say this. But I forced myself to go on.

"If you go there and tell them your story, they will care for you." I had said this to him once before. But that time, he hadn't been my apprentice.

Kenshin had gone still in my lap. I hoped he hadn't taken this the wrong way. I hoped he didn't think I wanted him to go. That was the farthest thing from the truth.

"It is your choice," I said at last.

He was still for several seconds. Then he nodded, slightly, without looking up. He had understood. Perhaps he had always understood.

"It's getting late," I said brusquely, feeling suddenly awkward with this kid in my lap. Kenshin reacted immediately, sitting up and climbing off me, returning to his usual spot on the ground beside the fire-pit. He still looked a little pale, a little shocky around the eyes, but his movements were smoother, more confident.

"Get some sleep," I added. "And Kenshin--" I caught his eye, holding it for a moment. "Think about what I said."

"Yes, Shishou," he replied.

He lay awake for a long time, that evening. I watched him from my futon, secretly, more listening to his breathing and feeling the activeness in his ki than actually looking at him with my eyes. The nights were still cool and dewy enough that we were sleeping indoors. I was glad of it, really; my cottage was small enough that we had to lay our futons side by side, and I was able to keep a closer eye on him than I could have done outdoors. I watched him, silently, until his ki finally settled and his breathing dropped into the steady rhythm of sleep.

I woke before him. He'd slept through the night, at least, I thought as I stepped outside into the half-light of dawn. The first couple of weeks he'd awakened in a panic practically every night, sometimes more than once. At least he'd be spared a repeat of the nightmares.

I got the fire going again, put on some water for tea, and wandered over to the side of the cottage for a quick wash in the last of yesterday's stream-water. I heard Kenshin get up as I was doing this, and sent out a quick feeler to gauge his state of mind. Still a little drawn in, but I didn't sense any fear. Good.

I took my time drying my face, then strolled back to check on the tea water. Kenshin had gone out into the clearing, taking the practice sword with him. Doing his usual dawn exercises. Also good.

I nodded to myself and strode around the corner of the cottage toward him.

"Kenshin," I said.

"Oro?" He stopped mid-swing and turned toward me, as if wondering why I'd interrupted him.

I smiled to myself. He'd used one of those odd words of his. It was either something from his dialect or one of those quirky terms that kids invent and use within their families. I'm still not entirely sure what it means. But I'd noticed that Kenshin never used it when he was upset.

"Do you have something to tell me?" I asked, no longer in any doubt as to what his answer would be.

He turned his eyes aside for a moment, pensive, looking out into the lingering dimness between the trees as if unsure how he should respond. Then he turned back and looked up at me, his expression owlishly serious.

"No," he said.

I blinked, nonplussed. 'No'? What kind of an answer was that? Not 'I'll stay'? Not 'Please let me remain as your apprentice'? Not 'O great and wise master swordsman, I hunger for the merest crumbs of your most precious knowledge'?

Sometimes I think this kid has no understanding at all of social interactions.

But then, if anything had changed, he would have had something to tell me.

It meant he'd understood, at least a little. It meant he'd chosen to remain as my apprentice, even after what he'd seen, even after what I'd told him.

The way of the sword is the way to kill. But the purpose of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu is to protect the people from suffering. That is my truth. To protect the people, I took up that sword.

Someday Kenshin will have to make that choice as well.

But not today. Today, he would continue his training. And this evening, I would teach him how to cook.

"Heh," I laughed. Life was good. The sun was rising, the dawn chorus was in full twitter, and my baka deshi was his usual clueless self. "Carry on then," I said, and turned back toward the cottage, swirling my cape behind me.

There had been a ghost of a smile on his lips as I turned away. And as I reached the corner of the cottage I thought I heard, very softly, Kenshin's whisper carried to my ears by the cool breeze.

_Thank you._


End file.
